Theatre Blue
by gardapati
Summary: So yeah, apparently, beating up black blobs of hollowness and craps with monsters summoned from your own phone is The Thing right now. Honoka isn't sure whether she's re-imagining her life as an action flick or she's living in the movie itself. — Persona!AU.


_chapter one: _warrior.

(warrior, lose yourself under the sun, start a fire in my heart.)

* * *

The world tumbles back in a loud screeching sound as her bike skids into an abrupt stop, kicking up dusts, stirring up puddles into something resembling a maelstrom, making her the receiving end of the pedestrians' accusing glares, sending the one-time umbrella she just bought, drive-thru from the nearby convenience store, down to the river bank. Turning her into a drenched mess of mumbled 's not even 8 in the morning and she's already soaked to the bone and it feels like the rain seeps into her insides, filling in the crevices between her joints, and even the slightest movement elicits a grunt from her. Unfortunately, a bike can't pedal itself. Fortunately, her bike was merciful enough to not join her umbrella's venture to the riverbank.

Her legs stop when she hears a voice calling out to her. It's familiar, she notes, somehow able to make out the distinct deepness in the caller's voice even though the downpour is annoyingly loud, seizing, overpowering. Through the cracks of liquid tormenting asphalt, Honoka hears her crystal clear, turns around and halts her trek to the Hell called School.

"Are you alright?"

Honoka nods in response, and flashes her a toothy grin, quickly before it swerves into a frown. She lets out a grunt that's halfway into a tired sigh as she jerks her head upwards. Then comes the sneeze. The morning is officially her shittiest one in a while. "Huh oh, Umi-chan… oh. 'm fine. Just having a crappy morning."

The bike is pretty much useless now too, since she's gentleman enough to not ride it herself while Umi catches up behind her (though it's an amusing mental image; the sight of Umi lecturing her about manners while after her, stopping for a fraction of second to catchher breath, is quite the giggle). She mutters out a _heave-ho_ and pulls her bike, holding back a sneeze threatening to bleed out, and Umi closes in on her, umbrella held higher to fit in the two of them. Honoka doesn't show it, (since she's in a duel against a sneeze which is trying to force its way out every time Honoka so much as breathes in) but she's _really _thankful.

"The rain's telling me to go home and take a long and warm bath, I think." Honoka says, and Umi looks somewhere between amused and not amused. She hears a low sigh from the taller girl.

"A grim reminder for you, Honoka: we have a math quiz today. Have you prepared?"

"Me? Preparing for quizzes?" Honoka laughs, and Umi's grip on the umbrella tightens. "I have Umi-chan with me, so I'm going to be fine. Private tutoring five minutes before class?"

"Seven years, and you still lack discipline!"

"Come on, Umi-chaaann," Honoka takes a quick glance at Umi, who's frowning with her eyebrows, so she strikes while the iron is still hot with pleading eyes, and Umi's grip falters in the scale of one Richter, "pretty please?"

To her, Sonoda Umi is like a collection of footages in motion. The dialogues are spoken in the style of recording from the 70s, the music in _shamisen_, the occasional ear-splitting crackling from the decades old cassette that's been rewind over and over again, the one she's memorized every of the scenes, but still can't get bored of. Even in big screen, in a blur of technicolors, the movie under the title of Sonoda Umi stays true to itself, the fragile sound of film cassette throbbing, tearing itself a millimeter apart every time the end credit rolls back into the opening scene. In 135, in . When the cassette is broken into two, maybe she'll just glue them back into one and rewind it once again, even when all she sees is a flow of static noises. Timeless. She'll play the movie all over again in her head.

On the other hand, Kousaka Honoka is an action movie filled with intense cat-and-mouse tags, flying intestines, explosions, so loud, the surround-sound thudding in the audiences' bones – in 135. The monochrome kills the excitement, the audio muted, the whole theatre empty. She's a bunch of color in grayscale screen. She's an epic condensed into a 20-minutes mini-movie, black and white, muted, cut due to budget problems and the director too busy screwing his wife off-screen to actually care. She's one of those trashes that never make it to theatre blue.

* * *

The school life of Kousaka Honoka is summarized by the flaps of textbook against the damp metropolitan air, in andante. The murmurs of Pythagoras theorem set to the strength of pianissimo. The repetitive clicking noises of gel pens in staccato. Compiled in her math notebook, the sleek white pages, untouched, maybe a doodle here and there in the corner of the page (never in the center, it makes her wonder whether she doesn't want Umi to find out that she's not paying attention to class again or it's her quirk symbolizing whatever aspect of her personality and more of those deep psychological stuffs?). There's never been a rush to anything, because everything stays the same. Horrendously static. And that's why action movies are worth something else in her eyes.

For those bored, killed by the mundane, lost souls who don't have the courage to rebel against their everyday lives, because they believe in themselves as walking corpses – each action movies are a condensation of flashy visuals and detonating time bombs in sforzando. And sometimes she immerses, inserts herself somewhere in the film playing with its blur of red and blue contrasting her room, lights down, colors against black. Pretends that she's standing there in the movie. Feeling the explosion before her eyes giving a sensual lick to her skin as she slowly burns herself to crisp, sparks flying down her spine, forcing its way from her hanging open mouth down into her insides, and somehow she's on fire. She'll combust into a million shades of red and brown and black and maybe it'll be better than living like a corpse, because either way, blown up or going zombie from the repetitiveness of her life – she'll stay as the dead man in the far end of the background. Mistaken as a prop by the audiences. The end credits will mention her in font size of 8.5, Times New Roman, and nobody will catch who in the name of gumball Kousaka Honoka is.

"How was the quiz?" Kotori asks her, bag already slung on her right shoulder. Wearing the same, all too familiar sunshine smile, but not enough for the heavy downpour outside.

Honoka pauses for a reply, lets out a dejected sigh, then resumes, putting her stuffs on the desk to her schoolbag. "Not that well, but I could've done worse! Thank God Umi tutored me ten minutes before the quiz." A shrug, and she turns to her childhood friend, presenting a goofy grin. "I think I'm gonna pass? I _have _to pass. Umi-chan'sgonna flip if I don't."

"Hopefully so! You've been doing better these days, Honoka-chan… maybe work for a full mark next?"

"Whoa, that ain't possible for me, Kotori-chan!" She lowers her voice into bravado, shutting her eyes for full effect. "I am a man of actions. I'm not geeky enough for that. Umi-chan, on the other hand, might do, 'cause she's physically molded into textbooks and traditional teacups."

"Who's _physically molded into textbooks and traditional teacups_?"

When Umi cuts her off, her thoroughly-trained over years survival skill takes over. "Kotori-chan, I'll be off first, OK? Ihaveerrandstodo. Seeya."

"Honoka!"

Before she could bolt out of the room safely, with her bag hanging loosely on the bent of the joint bridging her upper arm with its lower brother, a bell sets off, the speaker letting out hoarse noises. Someone on the other side is testing the mic by tapping it repeatedly.

"_Attention to all the students_," the voice comes, and the room goes quiet, only the pitter-patter on the windowsill left clear, "_—attention, please. All the students mustn't leave the school building, I repeat, all the students mustn't leave the school building until further notice from the faculty office. Once again—_"

"Wha—?! We're not allowed to go home?"

"Come onnn, what's going on? I'm gonna miss the episode!"

She recognizes the voice speaking in the intercom as the student council president's, although wobblier and a little bit unfocused as usual. It's strange enough for them to be told to stay inside the building, but the fact that the president sounded like she was in a hurry puts her in a tiny bit of unease. Everyone in the room quickly turns around to one another, spouting myriads of wild guessing, from the case of robbery to alien invasion. Honoka hears a faint footstep closing in on her, and turns around to find Umi, face scrunched up.

"I wonder what's going on…?"

"Terrorist attack?"

"Don't be stupid. This isn't an action flick."

At this, Honoka puts up a wry smile. "If only it is. I'd be the James Bond to your Pussy Galore."

"I-is that supposed to be a pickup line…?"

"Honoka-chan, Umi-chan, look!" Kotori calls out to the two of them, and the two quickly turn into her direction. "Come here!"

Honoka gives Umi a single shrug before she jogs her way to Kotori, who's standing behind the window with her hands on its cold surface, stumbling upon someone's bag on the floor on the way, knocking her side of hip to the table beside. It really is her unlucky day today. She mentally notes to mark her calendar when she got home. Umi follows suit, minus the hips kissing the edge of the table part.

"Look outside," Kotori jabs a finger to the glass window, to the blurred black and white and yellow behind the torrents of raindrops, but Honoka still can't make out what's there on the other side of the rain, the things standing somewhere in their school gate, "are those police cars?"

"Huh, really?"

"It looks like so." Umi answers for Kotori, and the scrunch on her face deepens. Suddenly, the window is crowded with people stricken by curiosity of whatever behind the… whatever thing is breaking their routine. Honoka feels a girl pushing from behind her, straining for something her tendons hold back, and thus the yelp of _ow, ow! _she hears loud and clear from behind. The additional weight catches her off guard, and she nearly crumples into the ceramic tiles below in a loud _thud _if not for her quick reflex of grabbing Umi's shoulder. "Hey, Honoka!"

"Sorry, oof— hey, who is it?"

"Oops, sorry, Honoka-chan!" The weight behind her dissipates, and she retrieves her joints back. Honoka spins around to the girl behind her. "I can't see what's happening outside!"

"Nah, it's alright! Though, next time you should ask Umi-chan for a piggyback ride instead of me." At this, Miyashita Coco laughs.

On the other hand, Honoka receives a sharp elbowing from Umi.

The rain no longer interests her, Honoka stands with her back leaning against the window, feeling coldness spread throughout her body. She shudders, feet wrinkled, and decides to use it as a topic – something lighthearted and casual won't hurt in this kind of situation.

"It's cold out, huh? The rain is really bad."

"Aww, I didn't bring my umbrella today..."

"It's alright, we can always snatch Umi-chan's. Unlike us fragile girls, the _bushido spirit _inside her will keep her warm even under afternoon downpour—"

The elbow shooting her rib is too sharp to ignore.

* * *

It's been twenty minutes since the announcement. Or Thirty. Or maybe an hour. She's been losing track of time even more frequently these days it's starting to bug her. She doesn't pay attention enough to the world. The world doesn't keep her interested enough for her to give a single fuck. Or maybe, maybe she's just sleepy, because as she gifts the clock a quick glance, the hour hand is just one touch away from number five, written in black ink against white.

There's no longer a crowd near the window; everyone had pulled a seat for themselves, docked to a table, forming large groups trying to pass some time, and a crowd is always better than a lone.

And what is a better time-killer than chatting over mundane things and nitpicking on every of the littlest detail?

"Huh? So it's true that Ichinose Tokiya is dating a _girl_?!"

"You missed yesterday's talkshow?! It's official now! He's dating... Haruka-something. I dunno. She looks so... _uninteresting_."

"A real letdown..."

"I thought he was into guys!"

Honoka sighs. These girls are hopeless.

"The rain isn't letting up..."

Just when it's quieter, the ringing of a phone blares throughout the room, startling half of the class. The owner of the phone fumbles with it while taking it out from her pocket. It's a rather funny sight, especially with Miyashita's overreaction to... mostly everything.

"Sheesh, a spam mail..."

Spam mail. Something about it reminds her of something she can't quite clearly make out. Honoka questions, "Ad?"

Coco gives her phone a quick glance. "Nope. It's from... eh? Who's _KLab_?"

Kotori perks up at this. "Aah, it's the rumor! It is said that if you reply that e-mail... something bad will happen. Don't reply to it!"

"Mmm, I won't, but what's with the rumor?"

"Tell us, tell us, Kotori-chan!" Honoka gives her the cue, leaning slightly forward—

_...!_

"Okay... anyway, the rumor goes like this— if you received a message sent by this mysterious _KLab, _don't reply to it. Some said that the message will put a curse on you should you reply..."

She feels her head split into two, or three, the edges of her vision blurring, the chair she's sitting in morphing into liquid; she feels like flying, hovering—

"...the other version said that this is the reason behind the cases of missing students these days..."

Maybe the headache is so strong she begins to hallucinate. Her surrounding begins to blur into a long winded-corridor, and there's her, breathing erratic, uneven, out of the rhyme, a mess drenched in cold sweats. Why, again...?

"...I think someone mentioned that replying the message means you have thrown yourself into a game..."

_Screech_.

"..._**Love Live**_..."

She stands up.

"...Honoka-chan? Where are you going...? The teachers told us to stay put—"

"I... I need to go to the toilet," she answers, hastily, and before she could give out a reason to reassure the worried look in Kotori's eyes, she bolts out of class in a fraction of second, bumping into someone on the way. She mouths a quick, slurred _sorry_, in voice so small the person she bumped into probably doesn't hear it.

_Ba-thump, ba-thump_...

"Crap... what the _heck _is up with me..."

The toilet is, thankfully, empty, saves for one locked cubicle. At least it's not bustling with gossiping girls, because she's had enough with splitting headache and the rough twisting feeling inside her, stirring her gut, and it feels like there's something inside her threatening to be let loose. Honoka grips the edge of the sink so hard, her knuckles turn ghostly white. And then the phone inside her pocket vibrates while singing out the tune of a pop idol song. And then she's _pissed off _for real.

And then everything folds into a deep shade of blue.

* * *

"Welcome to The Velvet Room...

...would you like to have your fortune read?"

She wakes up to theatre blue.

* * *

**Notes**: [1] Part one will be up soon. Concrits are greatly appreciated! Please tell me your thoughts on this \o/

[2] chapter title from a song by B.A.P: _Warrior_.


End file.
